Bodyguard
by MyOwnCharacterInEverything
Summary: It started as a job monitoring demon activity at a seemingly mundane house. But one by one, five teenagers receive strange visions of children who look suspiciously like them... Turns out they all knew each other once. So when an old enemy rises again, they will have to reconnect their pasts in order to prepare for the future. (featuring KissingFire & Ocean's Timbre) -Lise Graymark
1. Based On Stalker (KissingFire)

_**Bodyguard**_

* * *

**Clary POV**

He's back from school. I tense up, hearing another pair of footsteps follow him into the room. I see high-heels. Red, slutty heels that girls wore when they wanted him to... *ahem* He doesn't, does he? _Oh please. Don't do it. Not again._ But I hear him push her onto the bed above me. Of course they do the deed. I'd jump out and stop them, but that'd blow my cover. _That's the 12th girl in these past three months alone..._

* * *

He gets off the bed, but the girl stays on. I hear him tell her he's going to take a shower, so that his girlfriend doesn't smell her on him. He is such a man-whore; I'm surprised he's managed to still keep _a _girl to consider a steady girlfriend. Meanwhile, this girl stays on the bed, her feet hanging off the side. I know this, because I see her heels, hanging in front of my face. I listen, until I hear the sound of the hall bathroom's shower being turned on.

For the first time, I realized something was different about this girl. All the others smelled like cheap perfume or something from the mall. _She_ smelled...cold, but at the same time, sickly sweet fire. I knew this smell all too well.

His parents aren't home. He'll be distracted. So it's up to me to save him. When I was sure he wouldn't be able to hear, I rolled out from under his bed, pulling out my Swiss Army Knife from my sweater pocket, saved especially for this occasion. She was laying there, on his bed, satisfied with that after-glow on her face. She was pretty. _Too pretty…_

"Hello." My voice was high and childish. I knew it scared her. Her eyes snapped open.

"What the-?" She demanded, scrambling to sit up, covering herself with her hands. _Too late, I already saw everything_. "What the hell are you doing here? Who are you?" I cocked my head, smiling sweetly at her.

"You were a naughty girl," I scolded in the high voice, sweet-like-bubble-gum. I even wagged a finger at her. "_Very _naughty." She scooted backwards, eyes wide. As wide as they could get, when they're those pretty, almond-shaped eyes.

"What do you want, you creep?" She demanded through clenched teeth. I tapped the tip of the blade thoughtfully against my chin. Drawing it out. Like Garroway would've done. Garroway would've been proud. I smirk at the girl devilishly.

"I'd say I want your soul, but I know for a fact you don't have one."

She shook her head. "Uh, are you drunk? What are you talking about?"

I stepped forward, and grabbed a chunk of her black hair. She yelped. "You let him pound you," I whispered. "I let him pound you, right above my head. You little harlot." She opened her mouth, seeing my knife poised to stab her. She was going to scream.

"Hush," I cooed. "Shh, sweet girl. You and I both know you aren't good for him. Or _anyone_ for that matter."

"W-wha..." she swallowed. "What do you want?"

I brought my face in close to hers and licked my lips. "I want _you_..." I said huskily with a slight tilt of my head. "...to stay away from _him_."

She whimpered. "What are you going to d-" I pressed the knife into her throat, slitting through the skin.

A shriek rose from her mouth, blood gurgling and bubbling out, dripping down her chin and onto her chest, which were already stained with blood from her slit throat. She was dead. It was beautiful: Nothing but those blood-red heels, her inky hair spread out behind her, blood covering her mouth and neck and chest.

I heard the water go off, and duck, rolling under his bed. He rushed into the room, in nothing but a towel around his waist. I hear him screaming. Yelling. Cursing. He grabs the phone, and dials 911, reporting a murder. All this fuss, over a silly little whore. I shook my head, watching as police come in. Searching the room. Guess where they forgot to look? Under the bed. I sniff the blood from the sharp blade, and hum. Her blood smells like cherries. Sweet and scarlet. Suits her lips perfectly.

* * *

I know he's still awake. I can practically hear his too fast heartbeat from through the mattress. He's scared. He knows that his little slut was murdered right in his own bed, and he thinks the killer is still out there. But I'm right here, and I won't hurt him. He eventually falls asleep. His snores drag me to sleep.

* * *

I hear yelling, from downstairs. His dad. Him yelling back, saying he couldn't stand watching his father cheat on his mother anymore. A slap. Heavy silence. I know he was hit. By his father. The dad hurt him.

I hear him leave, choking out something about going to his friend's. He's upset and scared: His dad hit him, and his at-night-fun-buddy was murdered on his bed.

Then, somehow, some way, I know something's...off.

I walk, lightly on my tiptoes, down the stairs. His dad is sitting on the couch, newspaper in his hands. I walk up to him. Sit across from him, in the armchair. I smell a sweet cool smoky breeze. _I knew it._

He looked up, his eyes so much like his son's, puzzled. "Who are you?"

I smiled. "I'm a friend."

He frowned. "My son isn't here."

I nodded. "I know." I stood up. "I came for you."

I watched in disgust as his eyes darkened, and _it_ became noticeable from beneath his pants. "Well, come for me." He began unbuttoning his pants, but I shook my head.

"I need to get something." I say. _Great: __he's a_ _pedophile._

He relaxed, slapping me on the rear as I walked towards the kitchen. "Hurry up, baby!" He called. "I wanna be inside that cute little butt before I have work."

I rolled my eyes. _No one_ would be _ever_ able to claim me like that. I pull out a plastic bag the mother used on her last grocery-shopping trip. And I walked back, quietly so that his dad wouldn't hear me and turn around. I tugged it over his face, ignoring his pitiful screams, and when he tried to yank it off, I nicked his wrists with the Swiss Army Knife.

He couldn't breathe. It took quicker than I'd thought for him to die: He screamed too much, and wasted his breath. The dad was quite a sight when dead. I kiss the dad on the cheek, and then ran back up to the son's room.

* * *

His mother left. She couldn't raise a seventeen-year-old boy by herself. She couldn't look at him without seeing his father. Smart of her to leave, though. This house isn't safe anymore. I think that new lady is his grandmother. As if she could protect him from what's out there. He has such a dysfunctional family.

* * *

He came home late from school. I hear his grandmother tell him to get washed up for dinner, because she wants to go shopping for groceries. Minutes after she leaves, he leaves too. Probably off to his friend's house. For the first time in the three months since arriving at this house, I was alone. Well, I might as well explore.

I crawled out from under his bed. And suddenly, I heard noises. From the front door. Perhaps I'm not as alone as I originally thought. Ah well, it might be nice to talk to someone. I silently padded my way to the window, and I saw two teenagers with dark hair. Or at least, they looked that way. My knife felt heavier in my pocket, and the air felt colder. I decided to wait to see what they wanted. Then I heard them speak.

"Open the door!" The speaker was a girl with long hair. She kind of reminded me of-

"I can't!" The other was a boy with a buzz cut.

"It's just a door. Are you stupid?"

"Oh, forget it. The window is open." Quick as a flash, I'm back under the bed. I see them (well, their legs) traipse around the bedroom. Wait: are they going through his stuff? As I watched them for closely, I realized who they were. The girl was Jessica, and the boy was Sebastian. I knew they weren't very fond of _him_, but I never thought them to be the type to break into a house… And there it was. That all too familiar smell.

"C'mon! There's gotta be something we can sell!" Jessica said.

Sebastian inhaled. "Why does it smell like death in here?"

"Perhaps because _you're _here," I say calmly. I was now standing next to the window. The boys whirled around. One glance at my Swiss Army blade, and they knew they'd be in for it. I see them glance at the window, and I close it. "Don't even think about it." I hissed.

"Oh come on, little girl." Sebastian said. "Do you really think you scare us?"

"I'm actually taller than your companion over there," I pointed out. "So who are you calling a little girl?"

"Shut up!" Jessica screeched. "Do you know how many short jokes I've heard today?!"

"No," I replied. "Nor do I care." I studied them for awhile, and then said, "I do care about what you are doing here."

"You can't make me leave, silly girl. I'm-" He never finished that statement. My knife was a little busy distracting him with a well-placed blow to the chest. He fell to the floor gracelessly, and he never moved again. My "sweater" had somehow flown off and covered his face as well, making as much damage as the knife. ("Fashionabelle Armor: Attack Edition." Designed by Isabelle Lightwood.)

Jessica let out an angry shriek. "You killed my boyfriend!"

I blinked, then arched my eyebrows. "It's possible...for you...to date." I tried to sound sardonic, but I was truly shocked.

She bared her teeth. "SHUT! UP!" With that, she charged. She put up quite the fight. How refreshing. She placed her blows well, and her kicks were strong. But training with Garroway meant I had to practice moves over and over until I could fight when sleepwalking. I flipped over her head, and landing soundlessly on the other side. I turned around and snapped her neck all in the same breath. I dropped Jessica's body on the ground, and padded over to Sebastian. The knife was still stuck in his chest. I crouched down next to him and placed my mouth right by his ear.

"See, baby? That's what happens when you make a little girl angry," I say huskily into his ear. "She throws a little bitch fit." I casually tossed the knife behind me, where it "accidentally" sunk into Jessica's chest, who was trying to get up… I felt a satisfied glow cross my face, and I walked over to the knife, and I bend over at the waist to pick it up. I examined the blade, and reveled in the cherry-scented blood.

"Holy _shit_," someone breathed. I whirled, so startled that the knife flew from my hand and clattered against the wooden floor. _He_ had opened the door and was now staring straight at me: standing in the middle of his room in nothing but a skintight black tank top, a short black pleated skirt, and black heeled leather boots.

* * *

I raised my eyebrows, but other than that I allow myself to show no emotion. "Hello, little boy," I say. He doesn't know who I am. He asks, very rudely, in my opinion, how the hell I got into his room?

_Be cryptic_, Garroway would say. "You can see me." I stated.

He really looked annoyed now. "Of course I can see you," he said. "I'm not blind, you know." _Oh, but you are. You just don't know it. _I wanted to say.

I step over in his direction, and tilt my head to the side. I decide to be blunt. "I've been in your room. For three months."

He backed away till his back hit the door. "W-what?" He never stutters.

I took a step forward, and he flinched. "What is it?" I ask him.

His golden eyes are dark: full of fear and another emotion I couldn't place. "You've been in here...this whole time?" He asked in a hushed whisper.

I nodded. "Under your bed," I told him. "You needed somebody to look after you, so I was sent."

"Was it..._You _killed Aline?"

I thought back to the pretty girl. "Is that what that thing called itself?" He nodded. "It wasn't good for you. That thing's not good for anyone." I said bluntly.

His breath caught. "Did you-did you kill my dad?"

"I'm here to protect you," I turn away from him and look out the window. "Don't think of me as a murderer." A wry smile crossed my face. I'm sure at this point, I looked as scary-crazy as Garroway would have.

He gave a little annoyed huff. "And why not?" He asked in a sardonic tone. "You can't just go around killing people."

"You're right," I say, deciding to go back to a cryptic persona. "You can't go around killing _people_." I gestured toward the floor. "That's not a person, little boy. It may look like a person and talk like a person and maybe even bleed like a person. But it's not a person. It's a monster."

His face was pale. "You're crazy. I called the police on you once; I could have you convicted of murder."

I felt the corners of my lips curve upward into a Garroway-type expression: a smile that wasn't quite a smile. "The police aren't usually interested unless you can produce a body."

He glanced down at the floor. I knew what he saw. There wasn't even a smear of blood there- nothing to show that the pair never even existed. All that was left was my knife. I walked up to it, bent over, and picked it up. Behind me, I hear him swallow. "But-"

"The police from earlier? Ten to one those weren't real police officers. These little stinkers have a way of hiding their tracks."

He was silent for awhile, and he didn't do anything either. Funny, here was a girl: alone in a house with him, in his room and in a tank/skirt/heels outfit, no less. And he was just standing there, staring at me. Shouldn't he be trying to charm me into his-?

There was a sound. _The window_. Instantly, I had whirled around, and my knife flew and- -was caught by a hand. An all too familiar hand. And the figure in the window calmly said, "That was three inches farther from my head than when we last met, Fray. You're getting sloppy."

* * *

**A/N: Well, I was reading _Stalker _by Kissing Fire, who's a very good one-shot writer, by the way. Anyway, it got me thinking: what if she had a sane reason for being under his bed? And then: this was born. I may make it a two- or three-shot, but this is the first chapter.**

**If you do plan on reading _Stalker__, _let me warn you that it is potentially disturbing to those of you with weak constitutions. But if you think you can handle it, go ahead and read it. It _may _help you understand this a little better.**


	2. Garroway Is A GIRL?

_There was a sound. The window. Instantly, I had whirled around, and my knife flew and- -was caught by a hand. An all too familiar hand. And the figure in the window calmly said, "That was three inches farther from my head than when we last met, Fray. You're getting sloppy."_

* * *

**Jace POV**

_Damn. What the hell just happened? _I wasn't about to deceive myself: I knew I was scared. But fear wasn't the strongest thing I was feeling right now. I just kept watching this mysterious redhead. For some reason, there was a different emotion clouding my head. An emotion all too familiar to me, but why was I feeling it now?

"I like to think I trained you better than that," the window figure mused, looking at the girl standing next to me with an unreadable expression. The redheaded girl grinned, and I noticed that the front two overlapped ever so slightly, forming the cutest, most tasteful little ridge...

Wait- the figure in the window- _that _was who trained the redhead? I thought it'd be some buff motorbiker dude, or some dude that could take said motorbikers on. The figure in the window, however, was certainly the type to take on motorbikers before breakfast... but it was a _girl_. Normally, I'd check the girl out, but this one...too damn scary. She seemed manlier than _me_. And I was an actual _male_. That's how scary she was. Seriously, she looked like the kind of person who'd come over to your house and burn it down just for kicks.

But it fit with Redhead's fighting style... _Her expression when she stabbed those people. Her lips were the color of the blood on her knife. Her hair whirled around her face as she spun to face her opponent. The strange tattoos lined her arms, legs, and shoulders and continued under that tight tank top. The heels of her boots could tread crush a snake. Her skirt drifting tantalizingly upward as she bent down to pick up the knife. And God, if she didn't look good in black…_

Most of the girls who followed me to my room wore red. (No one knew I had secret inexplicable weakness for black.) And usually if I had a girl in my room, she'd be in my bed by now. Hell, I wouldn't be pushing her there; she'd be leaping into it. But Redhead…she'd probably stab me if I tried anything. Maybe it was the fact Redhead would be able to put up a fight rather than leap in (or on) without so much as a word of protest. Most girls were pretty and dumb. But Redhead seemed…smart and...

* * *

**Clary POV**

"Yeesh. It's great to see you too, Garroway," I said, grinning and shaking her head. Then, there was a dark blur, and I was pinned to the ground.

"I swear on the Angel, Fray, if you ever make me panic again-" I had the nerve to laugh. If it were anyone else, they would have (and should have) been scared spitless. But instead, the cold, impossibly-dark-brown-and-golden-flecked eyes warmed, and the straight black eyebrows furrowed less. Barely, but the anger in her expression softened nonetheless. Only I was capable of somewhat softening that expression now.

"Consider me warned, Garroway," I chuckled slightly as I added, "And is it just me, or is your grip looser than when we last met?"

Keep in mind, she was pinning me to the ground, and she would have punched anyone else who said it, but since it was me, she rolled her eyes, I was helped off of the ground, and the conversational subject was merely changed.

"Fray..." my best friend began. "I guess this mundie somehow broke the secrecy spell?" _Oh Angel_. I forgot the boy was still in here. He was gaping at me, with all the blood drained from his face. Understandable, since I got beat up by Garroway, and he saw me "kill" two "people." He knew it took a lot to pin me to the ground. And my best friend *clearly* had what it took to do so.

All in all, Garroway always reminded me of leather: deep, dark, mysterious and smooth, but still cool, tough, durable, flexible, liberal, rebellious, and maybe even controversial and risqué. Even "worldly," so to speak. That much was obvious in her accent: a strange combination of London, New York, and…another UK accent?

"No, actually," I replied. Garroway looked shocked...well, as shocked as my best friend could ever look. "The spell was broken by some Eidolons," I explained.

"Oh, _Eidolons_," my best friend spat the word. "The only demons capable of breaching secrecy spells and glamours…Ugh, I _hate _Eidolons..."

"You hate all types of demons, Garroway. Not just Eidolons…"

"But, Fray, Eidolons in particular are-"

"Wait a second..." the boy said.

My best friend blinked, not used to being interrupted. Especially not by mundies. Recovering, she shook her raven-haired head slightly. "I never understand why people say that," Garroway said, to no one in particular. "I wasn't going anywhere."

"..._demons_?" he asked, turning to me and giving his back to Garroway. Another first in behavior towards my best friend, who was like a tiger: a rough-and-tumble, fierce and powerful imposing figure, but was still graceful, exotic, and dare I say it…_gorgeous_. Yup, she'd be real pretty if she weren't so cold. No one just turned their back on my best friend. This boy was either really brave or really stupid.

"Demons," Garroway drawled, tracing the word on the air with a finger. "Religiously defined as Hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, to be any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension-"

"That's enough, Garroway," I said. "Nobody here needs a lesson in semantics- or demonology."

My best friend shrugged nonchalantly. Turning to the boy, she said, "Fray thinks I talk too much. Do _you _think I talk too much, mundie?

He frowned. "What's a mundie?"

"Mundies, or _mundanes_, are what you would consider 'normal' humans," Garroway said. "Ordinarily, they can't see us, or the Shadow World, but perhaps you have the Sight..." A calculating look crossed her face.

"Well," he said. "If you're not normal humans, than what are you?"

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you..." my best friend muttered.

"We're called Shadowhunters." I said.

"Shadowhunters..." Mundie repeated.

"At least, that's what we call ourselves," Garroway said bemusedly. "The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us."

"Downworlders?" Mundie asked.

"The Night Children. Warlocks. The Fey. The magical folk of this dimension."

Mundie snorted. "Don't stop there. I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?"

"Of course there are," Garroway raised an eyebrow. "Although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the voudun priests are."

"What about mummies? Do they only hang around Egypt?"

"Don't be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies."

Weird. Garroway is never this talkative with a stranger. But watching her and Mundie go back and forth...I was reminded of..._siblings_. Wait... is Mundie getting paler?

Shaking my head, I said, "Garroway, he clearly knows too much now. What do we do with him?"

"Simple," she replied. "We take him back to the Institute. I'm sure Hodge would like to talk to him."

Then suddenly, Mundie collapsed, leaving just enough time for me to catch him before he hit the floor.

* * *

**A/N: Hello, readers. This is the second chapter...I don't know if I should make it a three-shot or a full-blown story. Could you leave me your thoughts in a review? Because if this does become a full-blown story, I don't know where I'd go with it. I have some ideas, but... Perhaps you guys could leave suggestions?**

**And to : Thank you for your support. KissingFire is indeed an excellent writer, and yes, I did ask ****KissingFire before writing this.**


	3. Jace's Dream

_Wait... is Mundie getting paler?_

_ Shaking my head, I said, "Garroway, he clearly knows too much now. What do we do with him?"_

_ "Simple," she replied. "We take him back to the Institute. I'm sure Hodge would like to talk to him."_

_Then suddenly, Mundie collapsed, leaving just enough time for me to catch him before he hit the floor._

* * *

**Jace POV**

I dreamt I was in a room with two unconscious boys, and three girls.

* * *

"But are you really sure it's safest?" a tiny pixie girl asked.

"I don't know," a honey-blonde-haired girl replied in a thick British accent. "But the Clave isn't exactly known for genius ideas." She looked at the unconscious, bleach-blonde boy, her tawny, leonine eyes holding sadness that I sensed was rarely ever shown. "Even so," Blonde-Girl continued, "we really shouldn't question them, or we'd all be out of a job."

"Even if we think we know better?" Pixie looked at the other unconscious boy, then at the other girl across the room, then back up at Blondie, who hesitated in her response. I guessed that there was maybe only a year that separated them by age, but the two of them seemed as close as sisters. I guessed that Blondie was the older one, since she acted like she felt that she should protect Pixie. "Eliza?" Pixie tried again.

"We wouldn't know better. We're not supposed to," Blondie, or Eliza, I guess, began carefully. "We're only ten and eleven; who'd listen to us? We-"

"My mom would listen!" Pixie interrupted. "So would-"

Eliza interrupted with a sigh. "Even so, we can't argue with the Clave, and I think your mother would agree with me."

The raven-haired girl that was tending to the boys pouted. "But, it's not fair! Can't these two be shipped where no one will ever find them?"

"That's kind of what we're doing here," Eliza explained to Raven patiently. "Magnus is going erase all the memories they have, so when they wake up in their new homes, they won't remember being Shadowhunters, which would make them useless to Valentine. Then he wouldn't go after them, and they'd be safe."

"But Eliza...you can't tell me that you're really okay with them taking away your brother."

With watery eyes, Eliza looked back down at the blonde unconscious boy. "No," she admitted softly. "Whether it's right or wrong to do this to him without telling or asking him, I cannot say." She then gave Raven a serious look and sighed with a pained, weary air beyond her eleven years. "But all I know is that he'd rather die than let Valentine win."

"But letting him live as a mundane would be killing this part of him." Eliza stared at the other girl. I guess with her mini-model-like looks, it was easy to forget that Raven was probably smarter than most people would give her credit for. "So in a way, he _is _dying to prevent Valentine from winning." Raven paused. "You know, should I be glad that I'm suddenly okay with this?"

Eliza ignored the question. "When you put it that way…" She shuddered.

Raven frowned, like she just realized something. "But why does _my_ brother have to go down with yours?"

Eliza glanced at the tattoo on the unconscious black-haired boy's chest. "They're _parabatai_. They feel what the other feels. So if they were to capture my brother and do something to him-"

Raven blanched. "My brother would feel it too."

A young-looking woman walked in. "Are you girls done saying goodbye?"

Eliza nodded. Then pursing her lips, she asked, "Ma'am, does it ever get easier? Losing someone you love?"

The woman pursed her lips. "No," she admitted softly. "Come on."

Eliza walked up to the woman, and Raven walked ahead of them. But Pixie hesitated, staring at the blonde boy. Then, she put her hand in his and kissed him on the forehead.

"_Atque in perpetuum, frater. Ave atque vale_," I heard Eliza whisper.

The woman was tearing up. Then she waved for Pixie to come along.

Letting go of the blonde boy's hand, Pixie turned to her older friend. "Don't say that, Eliza," she said. "We'll see them again."

With one last look at Eliza's skeptical face, the door closed, and the room went dark and silent.

* * *

**"Garroway" POV**

"By the way, Clary Fray," I chuckled at my unintended rhyme. "I never got to ask: what's with the outfit?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh…" my little-sister-in-all-ways-but-blood, blushed. "Well… Isabelle… kinda… dressed me…" she looked mortified. _Oh, come on, Lil Sis. You shamelessly kill the most ravenous of demons without breaking so much as a sweat, and __**now **__you're scared?_

"So?" I ask rather bluntly. "I'm sure the Fashionista had a reason to attack. However twisted her logic is, she still has _some_ logic."

"Well, she…" Clary stuttered. "She…"

"Yes?"

"…wanted to…cure my, um…_prudishness_," she grumped.

I rolled my eyes. I wasn't sure how I felt about our fellow Shadowhunter's company; she could be a bit much sometimes. Fortunately, she was usually out with some mundie or Downworlder. "Well," I couldn't help the teasing tone in my voice. "If only she could see you now: carrying a teenage boy bridal style. Who, by the way, is dressed in jeans and a white wifebeater. Ironic: isn't it that in mundane customs, the guy carries his girl? And in their weddings, the bride wears white?"

Her blush deepened. "Come on…stop it. It's embarrassing enough that Isabelle dared me to spend this assignment in the guy's room…"

"Well perhaps you naturally think dirty. I mean, under the guy's bed? I'd've stayed in the closet."

"He keeps changes of clothes in the closet. And since people change their clothes everyday…"

I held my hands up in mock surrender. "Fine. You win."

"Where is Isabelle, anyway?"

I frowned. "Apparently, she was sent to another house with another secrecy spell."

"What is it with these assignments with secrecy spells, anyway?"

"Secrecy spells are for 'honorable' Shadowhunters. Whether they decided to quit, retire, or just take a vacation, secrecy spells are placed on their- I guess you could call them summer houses. The spell makes it just a little harder for the houses to be found and breached by demons. If a demon tries to breach the spell, a Shadowhunter from the nearest Institute is sent to the house, under a glamour, as a precaution. If there is no further breach of the spell, the sent Shadowhunter goes home. But as you know, however, the spell isn't perfect."

"How do you know more about my assignment than I do?"

I snorted. "Isabelle switched our names. Her idea of a prank. Do you really think your mother would let you out of her sight for three months? The only reason your mother never found out is because the parents Lightwood needed her in Idris._ I _was supposed to go in your place. Instead, I got to check on all the Downworlders. "

She laughed. "And how was that?"

"Let's just say they'd've been more happy to see you than me."

"I don't know about that…" She made a face. "The Seelie Queen hates me…"

"That's only because you don't know how to talk in a charming way."

Clary scoffed. "And you do?" Then mockingly, she said, "_I __really__ like your knife. How many people have you killed?_"

If it were anyone else, I would've been mad. Instead, I shook my head. "Very funny, Fray."

After a brief pause, she asked, "Why did this guy collapse anyway?"

I could feel the blood drain from my face. I had my suspicions, but this would be interesting to explain… Carefully, I asked, "Clarebear…you said the spell was breached by Eidolons?" She nodded. "How many were there?"

"Four. The two he saw me kill, the 'dad,' and some 'girl…'" I could sense her trying to see where I was going with this.

"This…'girl,'" I said. "They didn't…_sleep with each other_…did they?"

The blood drained from her face, and I knew the answer to that question was a 'yes.' I knew she realized what I was getting at. Funny how we could sense what the other was thinking. I thought only _parabatai_ could do that…

"How many times have they…"

"I never actually paid attention- I was kind of busy getting mentally scarred…" I rolled my eyes at this. "…but he had a girl in his room at least once a week when I was there…"

I (almost subconsciously) did the math in my head. "_Dall'angelo_," I breathed. "If he's been at this for at least three months…"

I glanced back at the unconscious boy. Sure enough, his face was greenish-yellow, and was that a rash on his back where the wifebeater strap slipped? It looked kind of like a shield…

My worried thoughts were interrupted by the fact that we were at our destination. My favorite-sister-friend stepped forward. Looking up at the iron and silver gates, she said, "By the name of Angel Raziel, I ask permission to enter this holy place." Instead of the gates swinging open like they normally did, nothing happened. Frowning, she tried again. "In the name of the Clave-"

I held up my hand to stop her. With a dramatic roll of my eyes, I shouted. "MAGNUS BLOODY BANE! I SWEAR ON THE ANGEL! IF YOU DON'T OPEN THESE GATES RIGHT NOW-"

The gates swung open. Magnus stepped out. "Yeesh. You could have said please…" Ignoring him, Clary and I ran in with the mundie's body. "Wow, no greetings or 'thank-you-s' either? Maryse would have a heart attack with your current manners…"

I glared at him as we dashed for the infirmary. "Well I'm sorry if I can't remember to be polite when this guy-" I pointed at the boy. "-has _astriola._"

Magnus blinked, then cursed. "_Merde_…" Shaking his head, he began running after us.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys. So, various different things might not be 100% correct. (e.g. Shadowhunter customs/terminology, language translations, etc.)**

**Also, with where I might possibly be going with this, Isabelle, Maryse, and Magnus might be OOC... just a quick warning.**

**Speaking of warnings, I probably won't be able to update as frequently after this chapter. (My break is just about over.) So don't get all up in my face when there's not another chapter for a few days, ok? Patience is a virtue.**

**MandyHerondale4- I'm open to whatever suggestions you have. Actually, that's to all my readers, not just you.**

**Sapphire (Guest)- Just hang on to that thought. Because Jace might not be as mundane as you think...**

**Questions? Comments? Concerns? Go ahead and leave them in a review. I'd really appreciate it.**

* * *

Translations (Disclaimer: may not 100% accurate, since Google and Google Translate were used)**  
**

_Atque in perpetuum, frater. Ave atque vale. _(Latin for "And forever, brother. Hail and farewell.")

_Dall'angelo _(Italian for "By the Angel")

_Merde... _(French for "Dammit...")


	4. Astriola & Abscences

"Wow, no greetings or 'thank-you-s' either? Maryse would have a heart attack with your current manners…"

I glared at him as we dashed for the infirmary. "Well I'm sorry if I can't remember to be polite when this guy has _astriola._"

Magnus blinked, then cursed. "_Merde_…"

* * *

**Jace POV**

I'm not sure why, but I had a dream where a raven-colored wolf with wings was singing:

_Demon pox, oh, demon pox_

_Just how is it acquired?_

_One must go down to the bad part of town_

_Until one is very tired._

_Demon Pox, oh, demon pox,_

_I had it all along—_

_No, not the pox, you foolish blocks,_

_I mean this very song—_

_For I was right, and you were wrong!_

Then out of nowhere, a bronze-haired wolf, also with wings, pinned the raven-colored one to the ground and snarled for it to shut up.

And then a cold hand grabbed my face, and there was a face covered by a heavy hooded robe the color of parchment with an intricate design along the hem and sleeves in the colour of dried blood. Underneath the robe was a dark-haired head that was as white as an egg. There were dark eyes, and the lips were curved into an almost amused smile. The skin is as thin as parchment paper and inked all over with similar tattoos to the ones I saw on Fray and Garroway.

I screamed like a girl (how embarassing), and backed up, hitting my head on a...bedpost. And as pain flooded my head I realized: I definitely wasn't dreaming anymore.

_Strange,_ said a voice in my head. _I know that song..._

"What the...?" I found myself saying to the creepy guy.

_I apologize, _the creepy guy's voice resonated through my head. _The girls who sent me to you called you a mundane. But your mind seems...strong for a mundane. In any case, I am a Silent Brother: a special type of Shadowhunter with more powerful runes, but such power mutilates our appearance. It is why we look so..."creepy," as you put it._

...why would anyone do that for power? I couldn't even giving up my gorgeous face. What girl would come to me with _that_? Mmm...girls...

_Odd,_ the Brother "said," interrupting my daydream. _This boy reminds me of..._ He must have stopped that train of thought, because he switched the subject and "said," _Anyhow, I am Brother Zachariah, and you had better drink this._ He gives me a flower-patterned paper cup with a substance that looked like...piss.

_I know it doesn't look pleasant, but you must drink it. Otherwise, the _astriola_, or demon pox, will continue. And believe me, you do not want that to happen._

"Why?" I ask defiantly. "What's demon pox? And what happens?"

Brother Zachariah seemed to sigh. _Well, what did the song say? It is acquired by scandalous...physical dealings with demons._

"A Shadowhunter STD?"

_Essentially. Only this one results into...well, turning into a demon._

Well then! I may have known about this Shadow World stuff for only a little bit, but I sure as hell (pun not intended) did not want to be a demon. So I drank the stuff like a shot...and nearly spit it out.

"Is this _bergamot juice_?!" I spluttered.

_The only cure, I'm afraid. And I should know; Silent Brothers are renowned healers. Now I leave you in the capable hands of the warlock Magnus Bane. Good day._

And with that, he left. And then, this guy walked. He was, as my mother would have said, long and lean. He was kinda tall, and he looked…Indonesian? Dutch? But _what was he __wearing__? _Rainbow leather pants, sparkly belt buckles, vibrant nail polish, lipstick… I feel less and less masculine just _looking _at him. He even had glitter around his eyes. Wait, his eyes were like the eyes of a cat: they had vertical slits, but I doubt that many cats had yellow/green eyes.

"Well, I'm guessing you know I'm Magnus Bane?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Well duh. Just because I have this gorgeous blond hair does not mean I'm stupid…"

"Oh, I don't know. I've met quite a few stupid blonds. Anyway, your clothes had demon crap on them, so I burnt them."

"You…_burnt my clothes? _If you had wanted me naked, I'll tell you this: I don't do guys."

Magnus rolled those weird eyes of his. "You're so much like…oh never mind. I didn't want _that _from you. I'm done with blonds. Look, here's new clothes in the bathroom, and when you're changed, stay here and go to sleep." And he left.

I shook my head, "Wow, even with my looks, he's just as rude as that Garroway girl."

"Oh Lise is rude to everyone," came a call from the hallway. "It's what makes her so damn sexy." Lise? I thought Garroway's real name would be Killer or something. For some reason, I felt offended for Garroway/Lise. She didn't seem the type to take sexiness as a compliment.

"I thought you were gay," I called back.

"I'm a freewheeling bisexual. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a party to go to."

I changed into the clothes he picked out, and as I was musing over how well they fit, I realized: I wasn't alone in the room. I walked up to the occupied bed and threw back the covers.

The figure in the bed groaned. "What the...?" He stopped; his familiar blue eyes blinked.

"_Alec?_" I asked incredulously.

"_Jace?"_

* * *

**Clary POV**

I screamed. _"What?!"_

"Yeesh, Clarissa," Isabelle said in her usual condescending tone. "Have mercy on my delicate ears."

"You brought a _mundie?_" I exclaimed.

"An unconscious one, but yeah. So? You did too."

"But the one I brought was dying of _astriola_."

"What?"

"Demon pox."

"That thing's fake."  
"No, it's real. Just ask Lise."

"Well Luciana isn't here to protect her little Fairy-Child right now. She's probably off at a bar again. Remember she came home smelling like alcohol? She's always out when it's dark."

"And you don't go out when it's dark?"

Isabelle just glared at me. "Whatever. I'm gonna go make dinner. Since Luciana's so busy partying." And with that, she left.

I took a deep breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders leave along with Isabelle. She was just so bratty sometimes. And always looked so annoyingly perfect. She needs to get kicked off her high horse.

But I needed to be patient with her. There were so few Shadowhunters in the world as it was; I couldn't just fatally injure her, no matter what she said or did. Besides, she didn't know about Lise's nighttime endeavours. She didn't know why Lise had to leave every night. And sometimes, I wish I didn't.

I found myself outside of the Sanctuary. And in spite of what had just happened, I found myself smiling. I opened the doors to see an old friend of mine.

"Hey Clary," came the familiar voice.

"Hey Maia."

* * *

**POV Switch**

Half moon.

It was a half moon out.

But even if it was a new moon, I still would have been able to see perfectly.

I ran forward unbelievably fast.

Well _I_ was used to the speed anyway.

Oh Lor-

I felt my mind "choke" on the word.

If my mother could see me now...

...well, she'd have a coronary.

Heart attack.

Heart...

...blood.

_Blood._

I heard a heart beat. It called to me like a siren's song. As I moved blindingly forward, I felt my fangs lengthen.

_I wanted it._

_**So bad...**_

I took a huge whiff.

Vitality and energy pulsed through my head.

And if I was right, it was a female.

A younger one.

_Oh sweet, sweet __**life.**_

And, looking into those unknowing brown eyes, only one thought crossed my mind as I pounced and sank my fangs into the soft flesh.

_I'm so sorry, Clary._

* * *

**A/N: I'm really sorry guys. School can get to a girl. But anyway, what do you think? I know where I want this story to go, but I need ideas. Part of what kept me from updating was writer's block. To help speed up the updating process, review or PM me with ideas. No matter how stupid, I'd like to hear them.**

**If anyone's confused about that last part...well it's written in a choppy manner because the character has an extreme case of bloodlust at the moment.**

**Soaking In The Reign: Good, you noticed that Garroway does, in fact, share her last name with Luke. As for who exactly Garroway is... that's just half the story to come.**

**On another, sort-of-related note, I noticed something about the _City of Bones _trailer. Jace, Jocelyn, and Hodge all have British accents, while Simon, Clary, and Alec all sound American. My theory is that the people that have Bri****tish accents have them because were born and grew up in Idris. Ergo, the others sound American because they weren't born in Idris. We have yet to hear other characters speak. Assuming my theory is correct, we can assume that Valentine and Luke sound British, while Isabelle sounds American.**

**Questions? Comments? Concerns? Or even just flames? Feel free to leave a review.**

**I'm probably going to take awhile again. And another warning: Characters may be OOC.**


	5. BasedOnTheDemonsWithinUs(Ocean 'sTimbre)

**Lise POV**

I had a dream. Well not really a dream. See, the reason I had to leave the Institute each night... Well, there was something in my past that happened... I couldn't quite remember it, but ever since then, my brain and body have been a little..._screwy_. During the day, I was a perfectly functional Shadowhunter. At night...I was a _freak_. I swear on the Angel, I turned _Downworlder_. I had the senses, strength, speed and grace of a vampire. I could turn into various animals, not just a werewolf. I had yet to find a warlock characteristic, but the few times I encountered someone out here, and they asked what I was doing, I'd make up an answer, but the lie always caught in my throat, leaving me to choke out a quick good night and run off.

But the freakiest of all these changes was the fact that'd I'd get weird visions. (I'm pretty much incapable of sleep, so I wouldn't call these dreams.) But these _visions_... feel like..._memories_... from another time. I wouldn't recognize the people, and honestly, I usually don't remember what actually happened. Instead, I usually acquired another skill after each episode. Once, I woke up, able to speak..._Welsh_. It's such a ridiculous language, by the way. In fact the first thing I said when I came to was, "_Fe hoffwn i fod mor feddw, fyddai ddim yn cofio fy enw._" (If you were wondering, it means 'I wish to get so drunk I no longer remember my own name.' Quite useful.) Another time I could suddenly play the violin. Again with cooking, Mandarin, and even most of my fighting moves. _That's _why I was so good. That, and lots of practice.

It was about 2AM. _Darkest before the dawn, _I mused. Suddenly, I felt myself shaking, and my sight blurred. I ran and sat down on a dark fire escape stairwell, and as New York City slipped away, I prepped myself for the vision to crash in. Now normally, I sensed who these people were and what was going on. But this time, this vision, I also remembered it perfectly.

* * *

Rain pattered a steady rhythm throughout the streets of London. (I'm not sure how I knew the location.) Water droplets pinged and plunked off rooftops and slid forlornly down windows. The sky was heavy and gray, the moon hidden behind dark clouds. Despite the heavy downpour, London rang with the sounds of night life. Neon signs glowed and buzzed, their lights refracting off the wet pavement. Cars honked, irritated in the slow traffic. Music blared from bars and people walked under large umbrellas. Just the sights and sounds of a typical London night. However, with a particularly bright crack of lightning or maybe through some perceptive eye sight, one may see an old and regal Gothic cathedral through the gloom. I knew it was usually hidden from the average human eye, the glamoured cathedral stretched toward the sky, black against its gray.

At present, a pretty leonine blonde (I think her name was Eliza?) was residing in a secluded den of this particular cathedral. The den was quite something. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves full of dusty, leather bound tomes. Knick-knacks and other artifacts littered the room, as did a great many globes, and I somehow knew it was very similar to the cathedral's actual library. Next to Eliza was a large, jet black bird. The raven (somehow, I knew its name was Nocturne) was sound asleep on its perch, beak tucked underneath its wing. For some reason, the ridiculous bird had decided to roost in here instead of its usual place in the library. Although, I sensed she grudgingly gave the feather brain credit for finding what seemed to be her special place.

With a book and drink in hand, Eliza's feet were propped up against a desk as she sat back comfortably in her leather chair. Her plain black t-shirt, dark jeans, ratty Converse, messy hair and casual posture all clashed with her rather elegant surroundings. Marking her place with a pressed leaf between the thick white pages, Eliza gently set the book down, apparently taking a moment to revel in the quiet. She began to trace the designs the rain had made on one of the large windows with her eyes when all of a sudden, the double doors to the den burst open with a loud bang. Nocturne ruffled its feathers and squawked indignantly.

Now, if the loud sound surprised Eliza, she managed kept her face smooth, expressing mild interest. She sighed, as if she knew the quiet couldn't last forever. Underneath her lashes, she was now observing the person who had rudely interrupted her, who (I sensed) also happened to be the only other one who knew of this place, much less that'd she'd be here. It was none other than a bleach-blonde. Her twin brother.

The boy still stood in the doorway, and I was slightly taken aback by his appearance. He seemed familiar to me. The boy had chin length bleach-blonde hair that was swept haphazardly away from his face, as if he had run his fingers through it many times. His angular features were white, his high cheekbones slightly flushed. His eyes were overly bright and tawny from the fireplace, and his thin eyebrows were perched high on his face. I noticed that the boy, like Eliza, still wore his day clothes, a black t-shirt covered in a black button down vest. He wore dark jeans and shoes as well, despite the lateness of the hour. All the other residents of The Institute were asleep, I guessed. I also saw the barely noticeable thin white scars peeking out from the boy's shirt collar and sleeves. They looked unusually white against his flushed skin.

Breathing hard as if he had just run a marathon, the boy strode confidently into the room to Eliza's desk, as if he were the authority figure. (Well, he looked like he was the older twin...) Eliza leaned further back into her chair, tilting her head at the boy. Despite how everything about her brother (as well as herself), exuded independence, strength, and impenetrability, I somehow knew that Eliza saw the vulnerability in the boy's eyes. Something was bothering her twin.

"What can I do for you, Carlisle?" she asked gently in her silky British accent, wrapping a loose strand of her hair around her finger. _Carlisle_. Why do I know that name…?

Carlisle leaned forward, his hands on the desk. Inhaling, the boy looked as if he was about to say something, but then thought better of it. He began to pace the den, opening his mouth every so often, but once again at a loss for words. Eliza patiently swirled her drink gently, the ice making a tinkling noise as it struck the glass. Finally, Nocturne let out a loud squawk at Carlisle, still slightly miffed at being woken up. Carlisle, throwing his hands up into the air, as well as caution to the winds, strode quickly up to Eliza's desk once more.

Leaning forward and splaying long, white fingers onto the desk, Carlisle began to speak, his voice hot and passionate, though not loud, carried the same silky British accent. Hair fell across his eyes, his face inches from his sister's. "She's reckless, stupidly brave, always getting into trouble, acts without thinking, doesn't listen-"

Eliza broke him off. "Of whom are we speaking of, may I ask?" she inquired, speaking gently. Although, she seemed to already have her guess...

"Clarissa, of course!" said Carlisle, emphasizing her name, his tone a mixture of hatred, confusion, and something else. Backing away from the desk, he began to pace again.

"Ah," deadpanned Eliza, a knowing light entering her eyes. "Why is it that Miss Clarissa has you so upset?"

At his sister's question, all the life, energy, and façade of strength seemed to leak out of Carlisle. He stopped his pacing, frozen, until he sat into the leather armchair before Eliza's desk. Tiredly, he rested his elbows on his knees, face in his hands. "Because I can't get her out of my head," he whispered.

Eliza heard her twin loud and clear though, and as I sensed that she was slightly taken aback, more information flooded my head. Apparently, on account of them being separated at birth, she had never seen a lot of Carlisle, much less him acting this vulnerable before, and besides, he rarely burst into her den in the dead of night. For him to let his guard down and speak to Eliza (or anyone for that matter) so openly like this was apparently unusual. Again, she was reminded of how much she didn't know about her brother, despite how much they were supposed to know about each other. Then again, they didn't exactly seem like predictable individuals.

"Go on," said Eliza, quietly urging her twin. Picking up one of Nocturne's molted feathers and twirling it around, she kept her eyes averted from Carlisle's anguished face.

Carlisle sighed. He let his hair fall across his face, acting as a curtain, his eyes seemingly staring through the floor. His hands griped the arms of the chair, white knuckled. "I dream about her. Every time I close my eyes, blink, even, I see her face." Carlisle's tone held no emotion in it, his eyes empty. "And I can't help but worry about her."

At this statement, Carlisle rose to his feet again, his temper rising. "It's as if she goes looking for trouble! She doesn't listen to me, and she's reckless, stupidly brave, acts without thinking-"

This time Carlisle stopped himself, as if realizing he was repeating his earlier rant. He strode back to the leather chair opposite Eliza, seating himself at the very edge of it, his eyes slightly bulging.

"Clarissa is all those things, and I can't stand her sometimes! It's as if she really knows me! And I don't know if I want her to know all of me!" Carlisle said, twisting his ring around and around his finger almost absentmindedly. He seemed to stare at something only he could see, and his gaze softened, as did his voice, though it held the same passion.

"But she's also selfless, and brave, and funny. She's smart and witty and strong. She's not particularly kind, but she's sensitive." Carlisle, his mood changing drastically again, leaned back in his chair as if finally exhausted. To me, Carlisle looked like he had aged ten years. I could almost place that face…

His voice speeding up and slightly gruff, Carlisle continued. "She's also beautiful, but I don't know why. She's average looking, yet I can't look at any other girls anymore. Maybe it's because she doesn't know she's beautiful. But she should be told every day that she is. I want to tell her that." I could feel my lips twitching, trying not smile.

Carlisle paused a moment, blushing slightly at admitting he thought her attractive. Finally returning his gaze to his sister, Carlisle spoke in all seriousness. "Clarissa is good, Eliza. She's everything I'm not. I hate her for that. But I also feel something else, and I don't know what it is, but it's driving me mad." At this, Carlisle tugged at his hair, his expression that of a drowning man. His eyes seemed empty yet burning.

Throughout her brother's whole monologue, Eliza had remained patiently silent, lending her ear to her tormented twin. She could tell that Carlisle was being torn apart inside. Standing up, she strode across the room, her back towards Carlisle. After the momentary sounds of clinking glasses and pouring liquid, she returned to Carlisle.

"Have a drink," she said, holding the crystalline glass (full of Pepsi?) out to Carlisle, "You'll feel better." Staring at it for a moment, Carlisle took it wordlessly as Eliza then resumed her seat behind her desk. They sat in silence, listening to the rolling thunder and pitter-patter of rain as Carlisle nursed his drink.

Finally, after digesting all that she had heard, Eliza broke the silence. "It sounds to me, my brother, like you are suffering from demons of your own."

Carlisle leapt to his feet, thin brows narrowed, making his face look sharp. "Are you saying that I'm possessed or-"

Eliza broke Carlisle off once again. "I am not referring to the type of demons that you and I hunt down with such passion and talent. I am referring to other types of demons. The ones in here," said she, pointing to her brother's heart.

Looking confused, Carlisle resumed his seat. "What do you mean?"

Eliza sighed, clasping her hands in front of her on the desk. "We all suffer from our own kinds of demons, Carlisle. Our own personal hell. The tormentors of the heart, mind, and soul are sometimes the hardest to defeat and overcome."

They sat in another bout of silence as Carlisle took in his sister's words, his mouth set in a grim line. Eliza was again the one to break the silence.

"I'm not one to tell you how you feel, Carlisle. More importantly, nor am I you. Your feelings are for you to figure out on your own. However, I believe that you already know what you're feeling, deep down."

Carlisle sat there, still as a statue and as silent as the dead. Eliza continued. "And I can tell you two things. Firstly, that your description of Miss Clarissa was quite apt. You are right. With all her flaws she is a good and beautiful and wonderful person. But that doesn't mean that you aren't."

At this, a strange light entered Carlisle's eyes, a mixture of fear and disgust and something else. "I feel…love." he said, letting the word hang in the air. "But I can't be in love!" he said, his tone venomous, "How can I love and hate one person at the same time? And my father always said-"

"_'That to love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed.'_ Yes, I know what _our_ father used to say. But maybe it's because of our different upbringings that I believe that's not such a bad thing." _That quote…_

Again, Carlisle looked torn, taking a sip from his drink. Eliza continued, "Perhaps love is not a weakness, Carlisle, but a strength. Ever since Miss Clarissa arrived here, I've seen her work wonders. She brings out the good in you, Carlisle, not the bad. I, of all people, am saying this. I, who does not know you like I should. I barely know you, my brother, and I am saying this."

Suddenly, a large boom of thunder sounded and a crack of purple lightning illuminated the room. Carlisle jumped to his feet. Handing Eliza his empty glass, he flashed his sister a quick, albeit tired, smile. It was a smile none the less. "Thanks Eliza, for everything. You've given me a lot to think about. And one day, maybe we will know each other the way twins should."

Rising up from her leather chair and walking around her desk, Eliza lead Carlisle to the door of her den. "Not a problem, my brother, anytime. Remember, trust your instincts. I'm sure you'll figure it out in the end. Now, I think it's high time that we both got some sleep, agreed? Well, you anyway, you at least know of my insomnia."

He turned toward the door to leave, but he paused. "Eliza," he said softly. "I know that you have under that name for awhile only because in the brief time you stayed with my- _our _father, he called you that. But that's not your birth name, is it?"

Eliza pursed her lips. "No," she admitted. "But you know my… _condition_. I cannot remember my birth name, only that it had an 'L' and a 'C.'"

"LC…" Carlisle repeated. "Well, LC, call me JC. Carlisle is only my middle name."

Eliza, or "LC" I guess, gave a soft smile. "Good night, JC."

"JC" gave another tired smile and a slight nod, walking out the double oaken doors and shutting them softly behind him.

I wondered if LC ever realized: her brother was so much like herself. He wore day clothes and drank Pepsi at night. So did she. He liked this "Clarissa" girl. So did she. He seemed capable of taking down gangs blindfolded. So could she. And most of all, he and she both, seemed terrified of love.

Perhaps she did know her brother after all.

* * *

When I finally came to, I didn't seem to learn a new skill, but one thing about that vision stuck in my head. _Clarissa._ That couldn't mean _my _Clarissa. _My Clary? _But the kids in that vision...10? 11? 12 years old? But that would mean-

A loud noise cut off my thinking. I rushed around the corner into the alleyway, only to see a unconscious brunette boy with crooked glasses, and a much taller boy standing over him. There was a dead deer, and all I could think was..._what the __**Angel**__?_

* * *

**A/N: Well, it's been awhile. In any case, I made this one a bit longer than usual to make up for it.**

**This chapter, the vision part anyway, was based on _The Demons Within Us_ by Ocean's Timbre.**

**In any case, remember to PM me your ideas, and who knows? You might see them in the story to come. I'm on summer break now, so I should be able to update more often.**

**Soaking In The Reign: Well, we have so much more to learn about Lise. We'll see.**


	6. Between Lise Jace And ClaryNo Breaks?

**Clary POV**

I would be lying if I said I knew what exactly Lise _did _on her nightly adventures. Even though she's practically my sister (and therefore I worry for her wellbeing), I never asked her what she did. Simply because I trusted her enough to tell me if anything important happened. I wouldn't go probing for that information. Maybe the reason she warmed up to me of all people precisely because I _don't _ask. Nevertheless, my mom and Maryse made her carry her cell phone. But she never used it. And besides, she always came back in the morning relatively unscathed. (Usually a bruise, like she fell on herself or something...) Not to mention the fact that if anyone could take care of herself, it was Lise. She _did _like my company and assistance, but she didn't _need _it.

So one could imagine my surprise when phone goes off at four-thirty in the morning. Now, at first, I thought it was my mother from Idris, or Magnus telling me to get Isabelle to bed, or even Isabelle herself asking for a ride from the club downtown, Pandemonium. But no. It _did _have something to do with Pandemonium, but it said:

_Clare, I need your help. Get down to Pandemonium. MAKE SURE NO SHADOWHUNTERS ARE FOLLOWING YOU. Well, mainly Isabelle; she wouldn't understand. Now hurry. Your best friend's life could depend on it. And for once, I don't mean me._

_~Lise_

Well, I think that was the fastest that I've ever dressed and armed myself. I mean if _Lise _of all people needed help, the situation must be bad. But I was armed lightly for subtly, so in case I had to drop my glamour, not even the most observant mundie could tell I was armed. But a well-trained Shadowhunter (as in..._Lise-well-trained_) could tell.

I quickly passed Isabelle's room and listened at the door. I heard her snoring, (Yes, Isabelle snores.) so I drew a locking rune on the door. She wouldn't be able to leave until morning, not even if she tried the window.

With that taken care of, I quickly rushed in the direction of the staircase that led to the door (the elevator would make too much noise),but I was stopped halfway by...voices. But who could that be? Magnus was out (Angel knows where), Max was in Idris with Maryse, Robert, and my mom, and Isabelle was out cold. Plus, even though Maia was probably asleep, she knew not to go in the Institute without a Shadowhunter escort. So that left-

"_Alec?_"

"_Jace?_"

Right, the mundie boys. I was gonna barge into the infirmary when I stopped to think. Would I really consider putting a sleeping rune on them? They were only mundies, after all.

"_What are you doing here?_" It sounded like Jace.

"_I could ask you the same question. But if you must know, some monster, apparently a demon, attacked and it knocked me out,_"I guessed that this was Alec. "_What all this I heard about you having a Shadowhunter STD, whatever that is?_"

"_You don't know what an STD is?_" Jace joked.

"_You know what I mean,_" Alec replied in exasperation.

"_Apparently my gorgeous body is so special, that normal STDs were never a concern. It's so tough and beautiful that the one thing that kills me is of demonic origin._"

I heard a sharp intake of breath. "_So it's true. Demons...warlocks...it's all real..._" Alec sounded somber. And tired.

"_Yeah. Not even my amazing mind thought it could be true,_" Jace seemed just as somber.

My mind was whirling. These boys were _mundanes_. And yet, when informed of the Shadow World, neither sounded particularly shocked. Instead, they sounded like something they had already suspected was just confirmed.

But I didn't have time for this. When voices stopped coming from the room, I figured that they'd be asleep. Quickly drawing a tiny Soundless Rune, I ran down the hallway, listening for followers. The rune I drew was so small, its effects faded once I got to the top of the stairs. One last quick check for followers, and I'm good to go. With that, I held up my witchlight.

* * *

**Jace POV**

"Demons...warlocks...it's all real..." Alec said as he fell asleep. Ironic that he was sleeping in a place where it looked mostly girls lived. I knew he hated it when I went after all these girls. He always seemed kind of angry with all those girls. But I looked my sleeping best friend. I'd give my life for him, and I had a feeling he would too. I was glad I had him. I mean, life wasn't easy when you had amnesia, and it helped to have a fellow victim at your side.

Yes, amnesia. When I woke up as an amnesia victim in the hospital six years ago, I only knew my initials because they were tattooed where my left arm met my shoulder. Because of that tattoo, I was called "Jacey" for the longest time, until one day, I decided that was too girly, and Alec came up with the idea of calling me Jace. It helped that the Clark family, who took me in, decided to name me Jason.

The Clarks were kind of...messed up. They had taken me in because they figured having a child, an eleven-year-old, but a child nonetheless, would save their marriage. It didn't. So with my so-called parents not paying attention, I practically raised myself. I'd like to think I did a pretty decent job. I never felt compelled to drink, smoke, try drugs...but I discovered I had only two vices: women and fighting. I'm pretty sure I'd've gotten kicked out of school if Alec didn't keep cashing in reality checks.

My "mother" Michelle was always out working. She always struggled to make ends meet, only to get slapped around by my "father" Jonathan, who was always either working or abusively drunk at home. I always did admire Michelle for never raising a hand back at Jonathan. I know I would have.

Then there was Aline. Aline was a regular. She was nice enough, but those past few times, she seemed stronger and she fought for control more than she did before. And when I found her dead in my bed, of course I felt some shock, calling the police and doing what was necessary. But my chest felt lighter, and I wasn't traumatized by seeing her dead...it was like I had seen a dead body before, like I was _used to _death. It was the same with Jonathan, and the bullies Jessica and Sebastian.

There was too much on my pretty little mind. I couldn't sleep. I _had _to go for a walk. Tiptoeing so I wouldn't wake up Alec, I made sure the door closed silently. Then I heard the faintest footsteps. I was always told by my piano teacher that I had sensitive ears. When the barest sneaker taps were heard, I ran in that direction, following with auditory clues alone. I ran softly of course, because I don't know how I sensed this, but the way this girl ran (the steps had a female cadence), she was checking for followers. And something, deep in my gut, told me it was the Redhead. And somehow, a name came into my head. _Clary_.

I shocked myself with how quietly I was running. It was if I already _knew _how run quickly without making a noise. Not that I needed to worry about that, because Clary quickened her pace the farther she moved, as if she steadily cared less and less about the amount of noise she was making. Which made perfect sense. She'd probably been quiet before so as not to wake, or maybe even alert, the building's sleeping residents. But now she had no reason to be as careful since she was now far enough from the living quarters that she probably expected no one to be around. This made my job easy. Well, as easy as chasing a girl dressed in all black at night gets.

Clary moved at a fast pace, turning down the endlessly branching corridors. She never hesitated in taking quick turns in almost complete darkness, so she clearly knew exactly where she was and where she was going, unless she had night vision goggles or something, which I highly doubted. Why didn't she use a light? (I idly wondered what she looked like as she ran.) Maybe she didn't want the glow to attract unwanted guests. Or maybe she was wary of being followed. She was smart and well-disciplined. I'd give her that. And gorgeous. I think I'll give her that too.

Suddenly, Clary stopped dead, and I froze, barely daring to breathe. I couldn't quite see what the end of the corridor. That is, until she pulled out a rock and raised it above her head. For some reason, I wasn't startled by the fact that the rock glowed blue, casting eerie shadows across the walls. I was startled because she spoke out loud.

"You might as well join me," she said, her tone flat and cool. I took a step forward, the toes of my shoes just touching the edge of the circle of light. I took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in my throat.

I'd never admit this, but I was scared. _I was caught._

* * *

**A/N: Well, there. See? Lise isn't out drinking, Isabelle! And I know it was kind of an odd place to put a little bit of Jace's background, but it works. I hope you read this chapter well, because there are little bits of foreshadowing scattered here and there.**

**Soaking In The Reign: We'll see, darling...we'll see... ;)**

**SaRangChild: Calm down, will you? All canon pairings, I promise. You'll feel better if you read this chapter well.**

**Remember to leave me your ideas, whether they're of what you think will happen or they're of what you think _should _happen, I do read all my reviews.**


	7. Carlisle & Eliza

_Suddenly, Clary stopped dead, and I froze, barely daring to breathe. I couldn't quite see what the end of the corridor. That is, until she pulled out a rock and raised it above her head. For some reason, I wasn't startled by the fact that the rock glowed blue, casting eerie shadows across the walls. I was startled because she spoke out loud._

_"You might as well join me," she said, her tone flat and cool. I took a step forward, the toes of my shoes just touching the edge of the circle of light. I took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in my throat._

_I'd never admit this, but I was scared. _I was caught.

* * *

**Jace POV**

"How did you know I was there?" I managed to breathe out. I sounded a lot more composed than I felt. She could kick my butt for following her...

An almost amused smile crossed Clary's face. "I didn't. I thought I heard something awhile back, but I didn't actually know you were behind me until just now."

Well, that confused me. "Then...why did you ask me to join you?"

"A gamble. To see if there was anyone actually there. If you answered, then I knew you were there."

Well, I couldn't exactly argue with _that _logic, so I changed the subject. "Where are you going?"

Whatever amusement lay in Clary's face was immediately gone. "I need to help Simon."

A strange surge of bitter emotion pulsed through me. "Who's Simon? What is he, like your boyfriend or something?"

She glared at me. "Simon is...I guess he's my best friend."

"I thought that was Lise?"

"Lise is more like a sister. A caustic, facetious, offensive smart-aleck of a sister, but a sister nonetheless."

"Alright, alright. Your best friend. But couldn't Lise handle it?"

"Lise is...different at night. And I've wasted enough time." With that she turned around and pushed open the door, revealing a balcony, lit by a barely there moon. She gracefully leaped up and balanced perfectly on the railing. I looked down; we were at least a story above the restless New York City streets. I had the sudden irrational urge to wrap my arms around her and pull her back onto the balcony. But at the same time, I knew she'd probably stab me. She could handle herself, she didn't need me. I'd probably offend her.

I must have been thinking too hard on the subject, because she looked back and asked, "Well are you coming or are you going back to bed?" She looked kinda playful. It was a good look for her. She looked younger, and...I had this weird feeling of déjà vu...

"You know, I should ask you," she continued. "Does the fact that there is a huge possibility of demons, Downworlders, and an angry Lise sway you away from going?"

I shook my head. "No more than the knowledge dissuades you from going in the first place." It rightfully and logically should have, but it honestly didn't. "Why do you ask?"

The playful look was gone, and now she was pursing her lips. She still looked like a young girl, but not a playful one. She looked small and..._scared_. I had the strange urge to comfort her, tell her that everything would be okay. But that was Lise's job...

"Because," she said softly. "If I'm interpreting the message right, then Simon...is a vampire. And he didn't tell me. But I can't yell at him for that, because he's dying again."

And with that, she jumped.

* * *

**Clary POV**

I landed perfectly. That was to be expected. I even expected Jace to follow, even though Magnus said he was supposed to be in bed. Figures, I didn't expect him to be the type to told what he's told. What I _didn't _expect was for Jace to land perfectly as well.

I must have been staring at him, because he raised an eyebrow. _Dangit! _You see, nearly everything "tough/bad-guy" type thing I know is because I watched Lise do it, figured out how to do it, tried it, and it worked. Raising an eyebrow was one of the few things I couldn't do. That, and being tall enough to actually tower over whoever I was trying to scare.

"What?" Jace finally asked. "Never seen a guy jump off a balcony before? Understandable, considering you only live with girls." The snippy answer coupled with the raised eyebrow, and I could have sworn it was Lise I was looking at, not Jace. Then again, since day one, there were all these little things Jace did that made me think of Lise.

"Magnus is a guy."

Jace snorts. "Please. Lise is more of a guy than Magnus."

"Lise is more of a guy than _most _guys. Not just Magnus."

I expected to hear a retort about how _he _could probably beat Lise in a manliness contest, but instead, I was met with a look of agreement...and was that..._respect? _Jace _respected _Lise. I felt my heart twitch a little in my chest, and I wished that I could reach into my chest and keep it still.

Speaking of Lise... "We should get going. We've kept Lise waiting long enough as it is."

* * *

**Third Person POV**

Simon was unconscious on the alleyway, and he was paler than Clary remembered. Part of the reason might have been that somehow, he was wearing a leather jacket. _Lise's_ leather jacket, Clary knew. Strange, Lise never went _anywhere _without that jacket, because Lise trusted only herself (and occaisionally Clary) with a jacket containing hidden blades in the cuffs of the sleeves, and another small knife in the breast pocket. Clary knew that those didn't even count the daggers in her combat boots or the sheath kept at the small of her back.

"You gotta be ready for anything, Clare," Lise would always say as she tossed Clary a seraph blade. And Clary had always taken Lise's advice. But nothing could have prepared her for this...

A guy stood over Simon, a grim look on his face. Clary quickly recognized the golden Praetor Lupus medallion around his neck. She ventured that he was most likely a werewolf.

"Praetor, let me guess," she addressed the werewolf guy. "My best friend is a vampire?"

The werewolf raised an eyebrow. "A Shadowhunter claims a vampire to be her best friend... Weird."

Clary looked slightly miffed. "Yes. Well. He's a vampire. And he's dying. Why?"

The werewolf sighed. "No need to be so snappy. Well apparently, he's new to this lifestyle, and from what I can guess, he was probably disgusted with what he was and tried to starve himself. But now he's weak from the lack of blood. Apparently, killing that doe over there didn't help. Only gave enough energy to keep him alive."

_Sweet stubborn Simon_, Clary thought. He was vegetarian after all. At least, when he was human. And she would have suggested blood drinks from Pandemonium about a block away, but something caught the corner of her eye.

A girl- a _Shadowhunter_- was watching the scene in a black tank top, dark jeans and leather combat boots. The runes on her arms stood out; she was quite pale. And she had all too familiar golden hair...

But once the girl saw that Clary was watching her, she bolted.

_It can't be_... Clary thought. _I thought she was dead. Or not real._

And Clary bolted after her.

* * *

**Clary POV**

I needed to see if she was real. Did she have anything to do with the dream I had last night? It can't just be a coincidence that her face is the only thing from her past that I remember. That dream... No. It wasn't a dream. It was a _memory_.

* * *

"Eliza?" my ten-year-old self called. I looked up at the tall blonde eleven-year-old girl.

Eliza looked down and arched a perfect golden eyebrow. "Yeah, kid?" she replied with a silky London accent and an amused quirk of her lips. Then she saw my scared look, and her pretty tawny eyes grew serious.

"What is it, Clare?" she asked softly.

I couldn't say anything, not when I was about to cry. Instead, I rushed toward her, encasing her in a desperate hug.

"Clare?" she asked again.

"I-" my voice broke into a sob. "I wish you had a friend. That _I _had a friend. We're so lonely...and sad. No one will keep us company now that-" Another sob. "_they're _gone."

"Wh- _what?_" Eliza stuttered. Eliza _never _stuttered.

"It's just..." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I hate how Isabelle pushes you around. Her brother- and _your _brother- they'd _never _let Isabelle be so mean. But they're _gone_. No one stops her from being so mean..."

By now, Eliza crouched down, so instead of burying my face in her t-shirt, my chin now rested on her shoulder. She gently stroked my hair. She smelled like smoke. Food. Home. _Him..._

"I have something even better than a friend, kid. I have _you_."

I blinked back the tears and pulled back so I could see her face. "You mean that?"

"Of course I do. Even when you're in New York with the Lightwoods and I'm still here in London, you'll still be my little sister."

I felt a surge of happiness, but I couldn't help but ask the other questions. "Eliza, why is Isabelle so mean to you?"

"I don't know for sure. But I think it might have to do with the fact that I look just like my brother. I guess I remind her of her brother, as well as her brother's _parabatai_."

I blinked. It made sense. Sort of. But I had another question. "What exactly are _parabatai_?"

Eliza frowned. "You _know _the answer to that question already."

"I know that _parabatai _are two Shadowhunter fighting partners that promise to protect each other. Even unto death."

"Yes, exactly. Why are you asking me that question again?"

"Because we promise to help each other no matter what. Are we _parabatai_?"

I caught the sad shadow that crossed her eyes for a brief second. "No, kid. To become _parabatai_, the Shadowhunters need to do more than just make a promise. They need to appear before the Council, and there's a special Oath-"

"With all this craziness in these past few weeks, all the Council's here. And you could teach me the Oath."

Eliza looked shocked. "You know what ails me. I'm not the strongest out there, and since _parabatai _draw strength from each other-"

I cut her off. "Exactly, you'll have _my _strength."

"Still. If Magnus was right, then I won't remember this in three years. And...I know your mom wants to hide you too, to wipe your memory of the Shadow world, to live like a mundane."

"Which is why I want to do this. I'm hoping the bond will remind us of who the other is." I make my most serious face. "I _want_ us to be _parabatai_, Eliza. I _want _to be your other half."

Eliza blinked once. Twice. Then, after what seemed like forever, her face broke out in that pretty crooked grin I knew and loved, and it was one of the few times I had ever seen her close to crying. "I'd be honored, Clare."

* * *

**Third Person POV**

"Isn't there a way to save him?" Jace asked Kyle. Kyle was the guy standing over Simon the vampire.

There was a slight hesitation before he replied. "No."

Jace felt his eyes narrow. "You're lying."

He blinked. "Well, there is one way..."

"Yes?"

"But it's risky..."

"So?"

Kyle frowned. "Why would _you _care about a vampire?"

Jace paused. "If he means something to Clary, he must be important." _Yes, that was it_.

Kyle sighed in defeat. "Well he needs more blood..." He shook his head. "I had better go get one of those blood drinks from Pandemonium. Better than nothing, I guess." And with that, he ran into the street.

Once he was gone, Jace opened the jacket that Lise must have put on Simon, and he realized why she had done so. The jacket covered up what the mostly gone shirt didn't. He reached in the breast pocket pulled out the small blade. Before he realized what he was doing, he had slit his wrist and held the bleeding cut over the motionless vampire's mouth.

* * *

**Lise POV**

I could hear Clary running behind me. She kept called for me to wait, to slow down, to come back. I didn't even know why I was running. Then suddenly, she called the one thing I didn't know would stop me. A name I hadn't heard in so long, but was eerily familiar.

"Eliza! Stop! You're my _parabatai_!" Then a memory hit me.

_"I _want_ us to be _parabatai_, Eliza. I want to be your other half."_

_"I'd be honored, Clare."_

Clary was my _parabatai_. It all made sense now. And before I knew it, she was in my arms, and we hugged the same way we did all those years ago.

"Oh Lise..." Clary sighed. Pulling back, she pulled her left arm out of her zip-up hoodie. Then she reached up and placed her fingertips on the side of my arm where it met my left shoulder. I couldn't help but do the same. Suddenly, I could feel the pull, the connection to Clary. It had always been there, I realized. But now, it was almost tangible, stronger than ever before. And before my eyes, the _parabatai _rune (re)drew itself on the place beneath our fingers. And I suddenly recalled the words I had said years before:

_Whither thou goest, I will go;_

_Where thou diest, will I die_

_And there will I be buried:_

_The Angel do so to me, and more also_

_If aught but death part thee and me._

* * *

**Third Person POV**

"We should probably get back to Simon." Clary said. "Even though that praetor is there, I'm sure Jace will still do something stupid."

Lise blinked. "_He's _here?" Clary mentally slapped herself. Now Lise was gonna yell at her for bringing him along...

But to Clary's surprise, Lise merely shrugged. "I had a feeling he had a habit of never doing what he was told."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard Magnus tell him to not leave the Institute. But one would think that he'd at least put a binding charm or something..."

"But it's Magnus..."

"Touché."

Clary stopped to see Simon drinking from Jace. Looking at Lise, she said, "I told you Jace was gonna do something stupid."

Simon finally got control of himself enough to drop whoever he was drinking from. He felt so guilty. He hoped he at least didn't kill them...

Jace was breathing hard. He felt slightly dizzy. Ok, make that majorly dizzy. He knew that he was gonna pass out soon. Was that Clary...?

"I could have killed you," he heard the vampire say.

"I would have let you." Jace muttered back.

And in the dim streetlights, a girl's hair glowed golden, matching her tawny eyes. The sun was rising, and her hair began darkening to raven, her eyes to brown. _No. It couldn't be_.

Lise couldn't believe it either. She now noticed the golden eyes, shocking against paled skin and now almost platinum blonde hair. _No. It couldn't be._

"Carlisle?" she breathed.

"Eliza?" he breathed back.

* * *

**A/N: Cliffhanger! I'm evil, I know. But at least I'm not dead. And I made this one a bit longer, too.**

**I have no idea how to write Jordan/Kyle. Or Simon. Or romantic thoughts. So please just bear with me.**

**I wanted to experiment a bit, so I wrote those Third Person bits. How'd I do?**

**I'd like to thank SaRung Child for being such a dedicated reviewer.**

**Speaking of reviews, be sure to leave comments, questions, ideas...heck, you could just say hi if you want.**

**Until I (or you) have ideas for next time: arrivederci.**


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